


Mr. Right Swipe

by AvaRosier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jonsa ultimate arc and endgame but, Modern Westeros, Multi, Supernatural Elements, both date and hook up with other ppl so be forewarned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Love in the time of Tinder...What do you do when you're a sex witch who has spent the past six years denying that part of yourself that feeds your magic? When your attempts to find love (that comes with multiple orgasms, natch) have only left you with a trail of broken hearts, and all of them yours? Sign up for Tinder, apparently.From the outset, both Sansa Stark and Jon Snow want different things. He's a werewolf trying to find a long-term mate, if only he'd stop sabotaging himself, and she's everything he's trying to avoid. So there's no reason why they should keep messaging each other, right?





	1. Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places

**Author's Note:**

> Look my guys, my dudes, I know I'm the queen of starting things I never finish but here I am, tempting you with yet another AU because lbr, most of y'all are masochists. 
> 
> Love you!

His nose itched.

That was the thing that dragged Jon from the murky depths of unconsciousness. He’d had no dreams, which, for his kind, was unusual enough to alarm him. He reached up to scratch the side of his nose, only to come up short. Frowning, he blinked his eyes faster to clear his vision as he simultaneously checked the status of the rest of his limbs and grasped at the frayed threads of his memory in an attempt to figure out  _what in all seven hells_  had happened the night before.

In quick succession he came to the following conclusions:

One: both his wrists and his ankles were currently bound by manacles to an ornate and black-painted bed frame. Two: from the darkness outside the window it wasn’t properly morning yet- an old-fashioned pendulum clock in the far corner declared it just after one. Three: he was starkers, with not even a measly fitted sheet to cover his hips. Four….four was…oh yeah: hadn’t he gone on another Tinder date earlier that night?

He yanked on the manacles, trying to remember the details. He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with one-night stands, but he'd never been so drunk he couldn't remember the sex.

As if summoned by the clanging of metal, a redheaded woman strolled into the bedroom, humming softly and carrying a tray in her hands. Her hair, which in the dim light of her profile picture had appeared dark brown, was actually a dark red that, if she weren’t a witch, he would think unnatural. So much for avoiding redheads after Ros and Ygritte, neither of whom had appreciated his stockpiling of kitchen devices.

[Jon thought that having a five-quart artisan stand mixer with four, count 'em, _four_ attachments stored in the corner behind his couch was an investment for future domestic bliss, okay?]

Melisandre was in her mid-thirties (maybe) and that had been part of the reason Jon swiped right on her- he was looking for something serious and so was she. Though it was becoming increasingly evident she might have a different definition of ‘serious’ than he did. They’d met at a trendy restaurant with some kind of postmodern approach to food, which pretty much meant Deconstruct Everything, aka LOL We Don't Actually Cook. The food had sucked and Melisandre had waxed philosophical on every damn subject.

Jon  _hated_  philosophy- he’d barely passed the 100-level course back in undergrad.

The combination of his frustration with the dating scene and the lousy food had driven him to drink too much. Hence why he’d gone back to Melisandre’s place with her and drank even more. Based on the pounding headache he had, the residual sluggishness in his limbs, and the way his heart raced, Jon would hazard a guess he’d been slipped some kind of drug in the wine she’d given him. Uncertain about her intentions, Jon decided to play it casual.

“Uh…if you wanted to do some bondage play, you could’ve  _asked_  me beforehand, you know?” He said, trying to sound nonchalant and not at all like prey in a hunter’s crosshairs. He shook one arm, making the chains rattle again. She had definitely been coming onto him earlier and even though Jon had no intentions of going on another date with her again, he- like the damned masochist he was- was down for  a fuck, especially one with a woman whose body language said she knew what she wanted.

Melisandre frowned. “You weren’t supposed to wake up this quickly. I must have made a mistake in the calculations.” She set down the tray and now Jon could see that instead of food, or even sex toys, the tray held an array of apothecary ingredients.

He was never using Tinder again.

“Wait, wait, hold up!” He called out when Melisandre turned to go, probably to check out said calculations and maybe knock him out again. She paused and turned back. “Just  _what_ were you planning on doing with me?” He definitely sounded more than a little panicked then.

“Your dragonseed would be the perfect contribution to a spell I devised to create a shadow baby,” she stated simply, as if that were all the information he would need.

“…say what?”

Clearly she had Googled him. That was the only explanation. Melisandre must have looked him up online and figured out he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. However, he decided not to correct her on his species classification. Yes, his father was dragonkind, that much was true. But Jon had taken after his mother’s side of the family, who were werewolves. And thank the fucking gods, both old and new, that he had. Especially now.

Melisandre smiled, her blood-red lipstick giving her a terrible sort of beauty.  “You are flame and I am shadow- together we could create the most perfect, powerful child who isn’t bound to the physics of this realm.” Her chest rose and fell with excitement as she delivered what had to be the worst elevator pitch Jon had ever heard. “Alas, it won’t work if I’ve made a mistake in the calculations, which I _must_ go check right now. It wouldn’t do to have you awake during the weaving of the spell,” her lips turned down in a pouty moue. “All that thrashing around in agony might prevent the reception of your seed.”

The recep- his seed- no, just  _no_. No. Fucking. Way.

Jon watched her waltz out of the room, mouth agape for all of five seconds before he yanked with all his strength on the manacles. A dragon-shifter in human form was no stronger or faster than the average human. A werewolf, on the other hand, could call upon greater strength as well as sharper senses. Melisandre had probably coated the manacles in some kind of specific inhibition spell to prevent a dragonkind victim from shifting and breaking the metal.

It took several tries before Jon tore the pillars out of the bed-frame and freed his legs. Nose open, he started to track down his belongings. Mercifully, she had left his clothing, wallet, and phone on a chair in the corner. He didn’t even bother to redress and instead clutched the bundle to his chest before taking a running leap through what turned out to be a second-floor window.

Broken glass rained down onto the lawn as his ankles took the brunt of his momentum and weight. The cuts would heal, though he really hoped none of the drunk undergrads staring at him and his wildly-swinging cock with wide eyes from their position on the sidewalk would end up being in one of the classes he TA’d for.

He was definitely never, ever using Tinder again. No more redheads. No more witches. No more redheaded witches.

_This is absolutely the last time I use that bloody app!_

 

 

 


	2. Redheaded Witches

“Teach me your ways. I’m ready.”

Sansa’s proclamation was met with silence from the other four women sat in a corner of  _VinTerAge_ , one of their favorite nighttime haunts. Their table was a veritable littoral drift of empty glasses as well as the half-full ones they were currently nursing.

Margaery and Myranda turned to stare wide-eyed at each other, fists vibrating in the air as they emitted twin squeals. 

“Is she asking what I think she’s asking?” The first asked the latter in a stage whisper.

“I think she is!” Myranda gasped. “The blessed day has come!”

They fake sobbed together.

Sansa sighed and stacked her arms on top of the table, watching her friends’ antics with pursed lips. “Are you two done?” She had met Myranda and Margaery shortly after arriving in Oldtown to start her freshman year of university, at a mixer for wixen. Both Margaery ' _can you believe I'm a flower witch, ugh so cliche_ ' Tyrell and Myranda ' _my tits can tell me when it's going to rain_ ' Royce had thought her specific powers were something worth being envious about, Sansa's claims to the contrary. 

“I doubt they’re done, but  _I’m_ lost,” Missandei interjected, the scrunch of her nose making her silver septum ring glint in the dim light. Sansa could practically see the linguist in her struggling to parse some meaning from the context of their outburst.

The final woman at their table, both older and taller than the rest of them, raised a single eyebrow, her attention sufficiently torn away from the conversation she’d been having via rapidly-moving thumbs on her phone. “Don’t ask," she cautioned Missandei. "You’ll probably regret knowing the answer to that question.”

Sansa had met Brienne when the other woman had been the TA in her 'Chivalry In The Age of the Five Kings and Three Queens’ course and the two had struck up a friendship after the term was over and Sansa had expressed an interest in continuing on for her Master’s in history after she finished undergrad. Missandei, she had met in a Valyrian language course, and by the time they’d been reunited in 'The Old Tongue in Literature’ and 'Rhoynish Branch Languages’, they were fast friends. Sansa was well aware that there was a division between the two women and her other friends, Margaery and Myranda, who were a great deal more caustic and free-spirited. But they were all here for her, which she appreciated.

For Brienne and Missandei’s benefits, she explained: “I’ve decided I’m done looking for love. Right now, I just want to get laid. Forget commitment, I’m in the market for multiple orgasms.” Just saying it out aloud felt terrifyingly liberating. 

(“YAS QUEEN!” Myranda mock-sobbed, causing more than one set of eyes in the bar to train upon the motion of her cleavage, barely contained by the off-shoulder top she wore.)

“Look, I don’t even care if we’re being OTT,” Margaery declared, flipping the long, expertly-blown honey brown layers of her hair over her shoulder as she directed her next comment to the confused women. “You have _no idea_  how long we’ve waited for this one to develop her Inner Hoe.”

“I’m sure you mean well, but that sounds terribly speciest, and chock full of stereotyping,” Brienne argued, sitting up straighter in her seat. 

Sansa stabbed her straw into the slush of her lemonade margarita, well aware of the plethora of issues she had with sex and sexuality. She didn’t have to be a shrink to know said issues were rooted in the fact she was a  _sex witch_.

Myranda ignored the tension between Brienne and Margaery, grinning at Sansa as she rooted around in the massive, ridiculously expensive handbag she’d gotten as a gift from one of her sugar daddies. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll find you plenty of willing victims in no time.” She pulled out her phone and began tapping at the keys.

Sansa groaned. “For the hundredth time, Randa, I don’t suck men’s life force out through their dicks! I’m not a succubus- totally different classification.” For good measure, she took a deep breath before adding, “And besides, if Marg is still alive and talking after that one time we had sex, I think you’re well aware of this.”

She shared a commiserative smirk with her oldest friend in the city.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


First things first: Sansa Stark wasn’t a nymphomaniac. She wanted to be clear on that. Not that she had any problem with women who enjoyed sex frequently and in varied forms.  It was just that she was the tiniest bit oversensitive to people assuming she had a pathological addiction to sex simply because she was a witch who used sexual magic. People tended to get weird about it- there were no shortage of stereotypes and assumptions about 'sex witches’…namely that they would cheat on you and were uncontrollable nymphomaniacs.

Which made it harder for her to find someone long-term. That had been a difficult reality to come to terms with since Sansa’s fantasies usually ran along the lines of vaguely erotic domestic scenes. Alas, despite her drastic attempts to suppress the source of her magic, her partners had a tendency to either be creeped out and want to put a quick end to things or they thought they’d be getting sex whenever they wanted like a 24/7 porn film.

It wasn’t an overstatement to say that Sansa’d had lousy luck with romantic partners.

Almost as soon as her prepubescent body was awash in hormones, Sansa had been dreaming of falling in love with a gorgeous boy or girl who would give her flowers, take her out to dinner at the place for teenagers to be seen in Wintertown, and basically give her the fantasy of every teen romantic movie.

Then she’d turned sixteen and the urges started. At first, she’d dismissed them as the normal hormonal surges of a teenage girl. That had been before she climbed on top of Cley Cerwyn in the back of his new-used car and fucked him silly. That, while a lapse in judgment, in itself wouldn’t have been a problem. But he’d been passively-aggressively treating her like shit at dinner for going to a Model UN meeting instead of his hockey game, so when Sansa felt her body become downright electrified in the car, she’d lashed out at him with that power.

Having your first sexual encounter become a police matter and too much of the details known by your parents had been pretty awkward. At least she hadn’t killed him? Anyways. School had been downright unbearable after that, with Cley and his hockey buddies making sure she became a pariah. Robb had graduated the year before so he couldn’t be there to threaten his former teammates into keeping their mouths shut.

What had followed was months of therapy to help her acclimate to the idea of being a witch that fed off of sexual energy. Frankly, Sansa thought her parents could have used those therapy sessions more than she did. Her father was a werewolf, as were three of her siblings. Only she and Bran took after their mother in that they were wixen; Catelyn was a water witch and Bran a hedge wizard with lucid and prophetic dreams. None of them really understood Sansa.

But. Here she was, thousands of leagues away from home at Citadel University, studying Westerosi History Before 500. Every so often she tried the relationship thing and got laid, using the energy for her magic. Which wasn’t to say she had completely accepted this part of herself- that was a work in progress.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure this is the approach you want to take?” Brienne asked her, concern etched into her forehead as she reached out to place a hand on Sansa’s forearm. “Just because you ran into a few bad apples doesn’t mean you should give up on the kind of love story you want.”

Before Sansa could reply, Margaery interjected: “To be fair, that’s easy for you to say- you’re mated to a lion-shifter who probably licks the very ground you walk upon.”

This was a fair description- for all he was cynical and sarcastic, Jaime Lannister had never made any bones about how much he adored the human woman who was taller than he, wore her platinum hair short, and who faithfully clung to old-fashioned principles that he claimed to eschew. Yes, they sniped back and forth at one other, but Sansa shipped it. Hard.

Missandei exhaled before playing devil’s advocate. “She has a point. I mean, besides Sansa, we’re all getting frequent orgasms. Marg and Randa have a rotation of men-”

“-and a few women,” Margaery made sure to add.

“-and then there’s you and I, who get quote, dicked on the regular, unquote.” She had a faraway look in her brown eyes. “Though to also be fair, I’m lucky to have found a man who doesn’t lead with his cock, but rather his mouth and fingers.”

Margaery’s eyes flashed with rapacious interest. “Oooh, I feel like there’s a fingerbanging story in there somewhere.”

“Does Grey excel at Sothoryosi kisses?” Myranda wraggled her eyebrows.

Sansa, however, was entirely absorbed in her abject envy. “Gods I  _do_  want that so bad. But Harry never even made me come.”

All cross-conversation screeched to a halt at the table. Sansa could’ve sworn even the two fiftysomething professional women at the next table were listening intently.

“WHAT?” Myranda and Missandei exclaimed.

“At all?” Margaery asked, brows furrowed as she tried to understand that concept.

Sansa shrugged. “Me rubbing my clit while doing all the work on top of him doesn’t count.”

“ _That sheep’s dung_!” Brienne cursed.

“Look, in a perfect world I’d find someone who likes my bossiness, who wants to go on bookstore dates, and also eat me out at least twice a week, but this isn’t a perfect world. So I thought you could give me some pointers and tomorrow night we could go out clubbing…why are you shaking your head at me like that?” she asked Missandei.

“My sweet girl, it’s the twelfth century. Modern women don’t go to clubs to get laid, unless they’re kink clubs, they-”

“And how would you know about kink clubs,  _Missy_?” Margaery asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Sansa resolutely ignored the interruption. “Who cares? Tell me, where do modern women go? I’ll try anything.”

“I doubt you could understand the intricacies of rope-play or upending gender norms during sex,  _Margie_.” Missandei took a slow sip of her wine.

“Is this a reference to pegging? Because I’ve drilled men up the ass, okay?” Margaery announced, her voice increasing in pitch towards the end of that sentence. Yep, the middle-aged ladies  _and_  the two men at the next table over were definitely listening to them now.

Sansa felt the conversation getting away from her. Desperately, she tried tapping Missandei’s arm to get her attention. “Missandei. Miss- just tell me-”

A snort came from Brienne. “Jaime practically handed me a strap-on harness our first time. That’s nothing. You?” She turned to Myranda who nodded.

“Bitches,  _please_. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve made off of men’s intrinsic need to have their asses owned? So much, that’s what.”

“TELL ME WHERE I CAN GET LAID!” Sansa all but screeched, causing conversation in the bar to come to a grinding halt. She gulped, cheeks flaming as all eyes swung to her. If there ever was a moment for the floor to open up and swallow her- this was it.

“Well, not here after that outburst, I can tell you.” Margaery pointed out, grinning at her friend’s humiliation. Sansa gave her a withering glare.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Missandei rolled her eyes, turning back to Sansa, “you’re not going to find what you want by grinding into the crotch of some sweaty freshman. What you need is to get on Tinder.”

“Tinder.” Sansa repeated dumbly.

“It’s an app you download on your phone-” Myranda tried to explain.

“ _I know what Tinder is_. But…I mean…isn’t it full of gross guys sending you dick pics?”

"Well..." Missandei began.

"Sometimes, I'm not going to lie to you," Myranda continued. "But no, you can only chat with someone if you liked their profile _and_ they liked your profile. It doesn't preclude the possibility of 'Proof of Dick' but..."

"Basically if you pick a douchebag who just sends you an unsolicited dick pic, it's on you because you chose them," Margaery said bluntly.

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," Sansa shot back dryly. It wasn't that she was against online dating, per se, but the thing that stopped her from getting on sites like Match dot com was how she was used to a great deal of her attraction to people coming across in person. Maybe it was a part of being a sex witch, she wasn't certain, but compared to that _pull_ in reality, she wasn't good at picking people off a website. But then again, maybe she was just fed up enough to be ready to be brave and adventurous, to go on random dates with the possibility of sex and toss them aside at any point. People had casual sex and casual relationships all the time, why couldn't she?

"I think nowadays you're just as liable to get a picture of a woman's breasts as you are a dick pic," Brienne supplied in an attempt to be helpful.

Sansa slurped up the last of her margarita. "Those are nice but I'm more of a butt or abs kind of gal," she murmured distractedly. "Maybe also a great jawline."

An arm adorned by a solitary bracelet entered her field of vision. 

"If you'll just hand over your phone," Missandei began, wriggling her fingers, "we'll help you get started."

Biting her lip, Sansa hesitated. Really, what did she have to lose? Over the years, she'd been aware she hated the thought of starting something with someone- even just a date- and not finding them compatible with her and then having to...horror of horrors...say _no_. That caused her a fair deal of anxiety. "So I could just meet someone for a date...and if I don't like them..."

"Then you tell them that," Myranda said, looking deadly serious. "And if you need us to be watching our phones during your dates in case you need a 'get out of jail free' call, we will."

The other three women made noises of affirmation. Buoyed, Sansa reached into her tiny black, quilted purse, pulling out her phone and presenting it with flourish to Missandei. 

"BARTENDER!" Margaery shrieked, startling just about every patron in the vicinity. "We're going to need a tray full of shots here!"

This was the beginning of a whole new Sansa Stark.

 


	3. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the tinder profile images won't show, let me know.

**While Sansa is 1,881 miles away arguing with Myranda about what her profile byline should be...**

 

Rhaenys Targaryen hated visiting her father.

She may have been a daddy's girl when she was little, but there's only so long a precocious child just beginning to show her scales can last before her broadening understanding of the world casts a harsher light on how flawed her father is, and the scope of his failings. She had escaped King's Landing for college in Sunspear and never looked back. She'd built a life for herself as a veterinarian in Lemonwood, practically a stone's throw away from where her mother lived with her new husband, Baelor.

However that didn't stop Rhaegar from demanding that his children visit him during the summer. So tonight she, Aegon, and Jon had endured a stilted dinner at one of the most pretentious, overpriced restaurants in the capitol. At the rate their stepmother, Laena, had gone through glasses of wine, Rhaenys was surprised the woman hadn't needed to be carried out of the restaurant. If it hadn't been for the strict laws in the capitol about where in the city limits winged people could take flight, she suspected her and Aegon would have taken off, Jon clutching at their backs.

But now she was comfortably ensconced in her old room, wearing the ratty sweatpants with the word 'sexy' emblazoned across her ass which might have caused her father to have an apoplexy when she was seventeen if he could have been bothered to pay attention to the real world going on around him. Rhaenys had made a pit stop for a bottle of Dornish sour wine she could actually enjoy, and she had the latest book in her favorite epic fantasy series open before her.

Finally, she could relax.

The door swung open, practically bouncing off the wall and slamming back shut again. Her younger brother sauntered into her room, not even glancing in her direction as he tossed himself onto the overstuffed easy chair. His white-blond hair, left long on top and slicked over to one side, stood out like a shock from his darker skin and eyebrows. He had the more angular features of their father's side of the family and the slim, but lean form of their Uncle Viserys.

“I could have been masturbating, you know,” she pointed out dryly when he didn't bother apologizing for the interruption.

Aegon shrugged, making a moue with his mouth, entirely nonplussed. “I doubt you can get off after listening to Laena go on about her mother's persistent hemorrhoids. Not for another two glasses of wine, at least.”

Rhaenys gagged. “Forget wine, I'll need brain bleach.”

She observed as her brother continued to tap away on his phone... _wait_. “That's not your phone.” Aegon preferred the flashy, sleek and silver kind of phones, not this scuffed up thing in a black case. “Is that Jon's?”

Her voice increased drastically in pitch towards the end of that question, already knowing the answer even before Aegon flashed her a devious smirk. “It _is_ Jon's phone! Anything good on it? Embarrassing sexting we can hold over his head for at least seven years?”

She loved her youngest brother, she really did. That wasn't always the case, though. It had been a fucked up situation where Rhaenys felt like she needed to push this interloper out of _her_ family, that if Jon and his mother hadn't existed, her parents' marriage would have been perfectly fine. It hadn't helped that Aegon had been relentlessly curious about his brother, wanting to spend time with him, which had felt like he didn't find his full-blooded sister good enough.

She knew better now, and it hadn't been until she'd made a few mistakes herself at eighteen and nineteen that she realized Lyanna Snow had been made a fool of, too. This newfound empathy had made her change her behavior towards Jon, including him more in her and Aegon's plans. In spite of being a werewolf like his mother's people, Jon's eyes glowed red when he shifted- just like the Targaryen dragonkind's did. He had inherited some of their father's inclination towards brooding, but he had proved to be blessedly more grounded in reality than Rhaegar.

So yes, Rhaenys loved her baby brother, but if that love was expressed through relentless teasing, well that was just normal wasn't it?

“Tragically, no, _but_ I found Jon's Tinder profile.”

“No!” Book forgotten, she scrambled off the bed and scurried over to the couch so she could read over Aegon's shoulder. “Oh...my...gods...”

 

"I know," Aegon tsked. "I'm personally offended by how pathetic it is."

“Of course he wouldn't have the foggiest idea how dating sites work nowadays. That has got to be the most boring profile I've ever read.” She groaned. “And he even quoted Nunkie Aemon!”

Aegon couldn't suppress the snigger that escaped his throat. “Seven bloody hells- no wonder he attracts all the weirdos.”

She had plied the sordid tales of Jon's misbegotten attempts at finding a long-term mate out of him last night while they were hiding from their father's bi-annual interrogation. Rhaenys found the whole thing hilarious even as she felt for him.

Aegon hit a few buttons, causing an unholy grin to grow on Rhaenys' face. “Are you doing what I think you're doing?”

“If by that you mean, am I making alterations to his profile to actually impress women- then yes, I am.”

“He's going to hate us so much.”

Aegon twisted around in the chair to look up at her, eyebrows raised with an unspoken question.

“Do it. And then we can choose a few nice ladies for Jonny-boy.” She clapped her hands in merriment, watching her brother wreak havoc with his thumbs.

“Funny you should say that, sister dear...”

 

 


	4. This Is A Comedy of Errors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to couturegirl20 and sansapotter for giving me some much-needed Tinder help. CONTENT WARNING for douchebaggery in some of the profiles. Some of the profiles I freestyled, but a few you'll see over the course of the fic I plagiarized from actual Tinder profiles I saw online. I'd like to give a special shoutout to Jack Gleeson for having such a perfect array of pictures to choose from for Joffrey's fake Tinder profile. Truly a MVP, folks.  
> Um, also, I totally went there with the 'too soon' jokes about poor Dickon.

**Back in Oldtown...**

The road shouldn't be shaking like this.

Sansa groaned as she tried to tread carefully over the loose gravel in the alley, making her way towards the Shiera Seastar graduate house. The wrought iron gate creaked noisily as she stepped through it and onto the blessedly smooth stone pathway that led up to the back door. The building was over a century old, with an attractive red brick exterior half consumed by vine, and it housed nine women currently pursuing a graduate degree through St Naery's College.  It took two tries with her key but she made it inside, and this small accomplishment felt like a real triumph given how utterly blitzed she was.

_Maybe I shouldn't have had those last three shots..._

Thanks to the age of the house, the wooden floorboards protested as she made her way upstairs to her room on the second floor. Once inside, Sansa sighed with relief to be able to take the pins out of her half-updo. The room spun as she nearly lost her balance kicking off the black knee-high boots but she recovered by throwing herself onto her bed. All the air in her duvet went out with a _whoosh_!

Mind full of a random, barely intelligible jumble of thoughts, she giggled with sudden inspiration, rolling over so she could fish around in her purse for her phone. “Victory is mine!” She crowed out, holding it aloft. “And orgasms. Soooo many orgasms.”

Sansa found the bright, shiny new Tinder icon and opened the app.

_Magic Phone, Magic Phone, show me the tits and dick!_

She bumbled around trying to find the profile pages Margaery had shown her on her own phone earlier. As she did this, Sansa shoved her way off the mattress and began to go through the motions of getting ready for bed. If she didn't do it right now, she'd wake up in the morning with mascara streaks all over her sheets and a zit on her chin. But she also wanted to look at Tinder profiles as if she were a kid in a candy store. Good thing she was a master of multi-tasking.

Somehow she hit the right button and a photo appeared.

“Oh wow, _hello_!” She exclaimed.

 

“I bet he could fuck me against a wall and hold me up the entire time,” Sansa murmured, drool practically pooling inside her mouth as she stared at his profile picture. Those arms...those abs...she'd bet the ass and thighs wouldn't disappoint either. Dickon was clearly popular, probably shallow, and not patient enough to not resort to textspeak in his description. But then again, Sansa wasn't looking for a partner, she was looking for sex.

And this guy was _scorching hot_.

Of course, just because he was attractive didn't mean he'd be good in bed.  _I'd get myself off just watching him flex those arms if I have to,_ Sansa shrugged. Her thumb hovered over the green heart button. She was drunk, she reminded herself, setting the phone down on her desk while she shimmied out of her dress. And drunk!Sansa probably couldn't be trusted to make good decisions. Maybe she should just browse tonight and go back over these profiles in the morning with a clear head. She threw the dress in the direction of the chair in the corner and groaned when she fell short. Not bothering to look down at her phone, she swiped her thumb to the right before walking over to grab the dress off the floor and put it where she had intended for it to go.  

Her black tights were half off her legs when she glanced down to see who was in the next profile.

 

"What the fuck?" she exclaimed, somewhere between outright disgust and secondhand embarrassment. 

 

 

_Someone's a rich asshole who only got into CU after a sizeable donation from mommy and daddy_. "No. Just no." She closed her eyes and shuddered as she swiped right. 

 

"Oooo," she cooed, eyes widening at the next profile.

 

_I would let her raw me_ , Sansa thought, biting her lip as she stuffed her tights back into her underwear drawer, placing her phone on top of the dresser so she could close that drawer and open the next lower one, which held her pyjamas. The dresser was tall enough for her phone's screen to be at chest height, allowing her to scan over Nym's profile while she buttoned up her flannel pyjama top. Apparently Nym had a long tongue and Sansa would just bet she knew how to use it, too.

The hint at BDSM intrigued her. Harry had spanked her during sex several times- even after she had expressly told him she didn't like it- and tried his version of dirty talk, which just came out all cliched and gross. Sansa had just felt degraded and it'd been a mood-killer. But that had been _Harry_. She's read plenty of romance novels with an erotic bent and she knew that the concept turned her on, it was just a matter of finding the right person or persons to experiment with. 

"Later," she murmured, distracted by the hunt for the matching flannel bottoms. Unable to immediately find them, she sighed and bent down to fully rifle through the drawer. "AHA!" she cried out when she located them.  Fully clothed, Sansa reached over and swiped right while her attention was on the half-undone knot keeping her pants a bit too loose around the waist. She gathered her small towel and her bag of toiletries and picked her phone back up.

That clanging noise in the distance was probably just her vagina clamping itself shut. "For _fuck's sake,_ Myranda," she groused, feeling a sudden upswell of nausea. Her friend must have set Sansa's age brackets wide apart. "So gross." Not only was this Petyr clearly a creep, he was probably the last person anybody should trust or give away control to. Also he was probably a bloodsucker- and Sansa wasn't into vamps. Too many of the male vamps were basically the undead embodiment of Reddit.

It took some juggling to get her door open. She ended up having to pile the towel and bag on top of the wrist holding her phone, but once she had the door propped open, she touched the screen with her thumb, blind, and swiped right. She would totally have to go back another time and hit the big red X on that profile. And "Joffmeister", too.

Once inside the bathroom, Sansa set about washing her face free of makeup. She was in the middle of brushing her teeth when she decided to check her phone and see if the next profile was someone fun or just yet another creep. 

Sansa gave an appreciative little hum around her toothbrush as she studied the newest man Tinder had presented her with for judgment. The picture wasn't the best quality but he had attractive features, what looked like soft, kissable lips, and a probably very fit body. With facial hair like that- not too much that it was a full beard and not so little it was just a five o'clock shadow- she could practically feel her pussy tingling at the thought of experiencing that scruff against her her inner thighs.

But...Sansa frowned as she took in what looked like hair in a manbun, the shirt with the pretentiously popped collar that had probably come pre-wrinkled from Harwood & Hobb, and the expensive brand of champagne in his hand. She didn't know this "JonniBoi" but in a way she recognized him. She'd met plenty of men like him in Harry's circle of friends. He was probably a member of one of the more well-known (aka snobby) (aka rich) colleges like Lionsgate, Andal, or Five Kings. He likely had a cushy job waiting for him at a top company in King's Landing as soon as he finished going through the motions of academics at an university he of course was accepted to because of his family name. He also probably liked to play devil's advocate in polite debates that you'd lose if you got more upset than was considered acceptable.

Yeah, yeah, Sansa was supposed to just be looking for people to fuck, not pseudo-marriageable material, but there was 'broadening her horizons' and then there was 'forcing herself to have sex with someone who reminded her of her dreaded ex in a bad way'. Maybe she _was_ being unfair to this Jon guy...

Whatever. She came by her prejudices honestly, okay?

 

Professional brooder? Sansa made a few lazy motions with her toothbrush, unable to resist her curiosity. She scrolled down.

And promptly burst out laughing, causing toothpaste and saliva to splatter over the mirror.

 

It took two minutes of spitting out the rest of her toothpaste- amidst long, snorting giggles- for her laughter to die down. Shoulders still shaking, Sansa shook her head ruefully. "Sorry, JonniBoi, you've got an A++ profile and all," she looked up at herself in the mirror, holding her phone under her chin as if it were a microphone. "But my vagina should probably have some standards." She swiped right while eyeing the mess she'd have to clean up. She'd show Marg and the others his profile tomorrow so they could have a laugh before she officially rejected him. 

By the time Sansa was ensconced in bed, lights off save for the glow of her phone, her eyes were burning with the need to sleep off the rest of the alcohol. Despite her tenuous hold on consciousness, she was addicted enough to her new app to take one last look at Tinder. Dimly horrified, she recognized the man grinning at her in the picture.

"Theon??"

She groaned, mentally tossing a prayer to the Fates that he wouldn't also end up seeing her profile and blabbing to Robb that his little sister was "DTF" or "cruisin' for a dickin'", or whatever crass turn of phrase Theon was using nowadays. She would never hear the end of it from Robb. But given that this was _Theon_ , he probably had his Tinder net cast over a wide swath of the Westerosi coast. Sighing, Sansa scrolled down. She might as well see what what he had put in his profile description. 

"Oh boy," she murmured.  It was actually kind of sweet...for Theon. But there was no way she was going there. Sansa was going to hit the reject 'X' but her thumb outpaced her wits; she swiped right once more- _wait_. Her brain froze for a long second before she squinted at the screen, swiping left twice in an attempt to bring back Theon's profile, trying vainly to remember if she had read that right. To no avail, however. There were only new profiles.

_Let yourself swipe right on me._

"I can't think," she mumbled, eyes burning as she closed the app. Sansa was distantly aware that her stumbling around on this site had probably resulted in something she would be very, very embarrassed about in the morning. But that was hardly anything she was capable of being worried about right now. She tossed her phone down onto the duvet and rolled over onto her side, tucking her hands in between her cheek and the pillow, fast asleep within moments.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Minutes later (actually three time zones forward)...**

 

"Fuck. Me."

Aegon's head rose from his spot lying upside down on Rhaenys' old bed. "What?"

Rhaenys set down her nearly-empty glass of wine and padded over to the bed, holding Jon's pilfered phone down where her brother could see the screen. "Check out this hot redhead that came across his radar- I'm gonna swipe right on her for our darling baby bro. He sometimes tries to do that pouty smoldering look like Flynn Rider, but that's pretty much the opposite of Prince Charming, right?"

Aegon whistled, grabbing the phone and scrolling down to read "Saansaaa's" profile. "Damn, _I_ wanna swipe right on her. But you know she'd be wasted on Jonny. Didn't he rather emphatically declare himself done with redheads?" 

Rhaenys gave a noncommittal hum, taking the phone back from Aegon. "You know he's had this weird fixation on redheads ever since he was like, fourteen-"

"Oh yeah, I got him to watch some online porn for the first time. There was this one famous porn star, Ros...he couldn't stop watching her videos."

" _Overshare_ ," she scolded him. "But yeah...I don't know...I just have a feeling there might be an important reason he keeps _trying_ with redheads. I mean, maybe he has some kind of instinct that the one he's looking for has red hair." They were dragonkind in a world saturated by magic; they never discounted the importance of instinct or fate.

Aegon shrugged, as close as she'd get to encouragement out of him on this topic. "Might as well. Though, she probably won-"

Rhaenys swiped right on the redhead and both her eyes and mouth became as wide as saucers when the phone dinged and a red heart appeared on the screen. "Oh...my..."

"No fucking way!" Aegon rolled over and shot off the bed to stand next to her and stare down at the phone.

"...Gods! They matched!"

Aegon snorted. "You realize with Jon's track record this means she's probably freaky somehow?"

"Who cares? We are so good at matchmaking."

"So true." They high-fived.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I don't think Sansa understands how Tinder actually works...


End file.
